Impulse
by Lady Androgene
Summary: [Thrill Pair] Ryoma can no longer run away. Fuji watches and waits. Completed.
1. Chapter 1: Return

Title: **Impulse**

Rating: This part PG, will change later

Genre: A weird combination of fluff, angst, and um, smut.

Pairing/s: Thrill Pair + a dash of AtoMo (in the future chapters)

Summary: Ryoma could no longer run away. Fuji watches and waits.

Notes: Written for Mei/Ryuuza's birthday.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Konomi Takeshi's.

* * *

Graduation day at Seigaku Junior High found Fuji kissing Ryoma softly on the cheek.

"Will you go out with me?" he asked.

Ryoma looked away and answered. "Mada mada da ne."

Fuji didn't understand why but he didn't question Ryoma. He merely smiled.

o

Graduation day at Seigaku High found Fuji handing Ryoma the second button of his gakuren. Ryoma took the item and blinked.

"Now, will you be mine?"

Again, Ryoma didn't meet his eyes. "Mada mada da ne."

Fuji still didn't understand. But like before, he said nothing and just smiled as if he understood.

o

Graduation day at Tokyo University found Fuji kissing Ryoma chastely on the lips, fingers delicately cupping Ryoma's chin.

"I love you, Ryoma," he said as he pulled away. "Now, will you give me a chance?"

Ryoma just looked at him, saying nothing.

Fuji understood what that look meant but he_ still_ didn't understand_ why._ And he smiled no more.

* * *

**Impulse**

By Lady Androgene

**Chapter 1: Return **

No. Not possible.

Ryoma stared at the teacher's table and at the person who was chatting amiably with the generic crop of doe-eyed females in the front row. It couldn't be.

_He_ graduated last year. _He_ had a well-paying job as a professional photographer at one of the biggest local news networks situated in Tokyo.

Unless…

Ryoma's eyes veered downward and caught the familiar teacher's id that was clipped on the belt loops of the teacher's pants. His heart sank.

He looked around, half-hoping for evidence that he was being filmed for some cruel gag. He found none. He pulled out his registration form and triple-checked the information, sharp eyes carefully scrutinizing every bit of text. But there was no mistake. He had come to the right classroom. The words Psy155 Behavioral Psychology scrawled across the blackboard further attested to that.

But still… he couldn't bring himself to move. The reality of the situation was painfully clear to him but it hadn't _kicked in_.

So he settled on keeping his feet glued to the doorway, staring and entertaining the temptation to run to the registrar's office and ask for a load revision. He wondered why he had a Psychology class in his curriculum, seeing as he was majoring in Materials Science and Applied Chemistry. Then he remembered that this was a free elective and that it was Momoshiro who had enrolled for him. Ryoma hadn't enrolled himself because the US Open was at the same time as the University's registration period. Momoshiro had tried to consult with him for elective choices but Ryoma had been in the middle of a press conference and told Momo to choose for him.

And _this_ was what he got. He made a mental note never to trust Momo's judgment again.

A familiar voice suddenly rang out, interrupting his thoughts.

"Echizen Ryoma, correct?" His new professor read from the class list, smiling pleasantly at him. "Please take your seat or I'll have to mark you as late."

Mildly embarrassed at being caught off-guard, Ryoma hung his head, suppressing the urge to glare at the teacher. He managed to coax his feet into stepping away from the doorway to search for an unoccupied seat. Much to his chagrin, he discovered that there was only one vacancy – the desk front and center. Why this seat was still unoccupied despite the presence of several female fans the professor had acquired was beyond him, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't a lack of boldness that kept them from taking the damned place. Still, there was no sense in refusing so he slowly made his way to this desk and dropped his things on it, his eyes never quite landing on the disturbing sight in front of him. He focused his gaze on the gratuitously vandalized table instead.

The class chatter quieted down as their professor finally got off his perch on his desk and faced the class.

"Good afternoon, class. I am Fuji Syuusuke and I will be your instructor for this course."

-TBC-


	2. Chapter 2: Heart Over Mind

**Chapter 2: Heart Over Mind**

The second week.

Fuji's teaching methods were bizarre. To put it mildly. For one thing, they were out of the classroom half the time for lectures, usually trooping over to some open spot in the college grounds. Fuji claimed that the classroom was too stifling, and leeched the creativity out of students, hence their frequent occupation of the soccer field or one of the many gardens in the university. The classroom was only used if Fuji had a visual presentation to accompany his lectures. This time, they were in the garden near the giant fountain.

Fuji also asked his students NOT to take notes while he spoke. He provided handouts instead, and supplemented recordings of his lectures in WAV format in the university website.

The last thing, probably the most normal of all, but unusual in context nonetheless, was that Fuji's lectures were hardly different from the storytelling activities one would usually find in grade school. Fuji didn't enumerate concepts and explain what they were or how they worked. Rather, Fuji picked out real life experiences from his or other people's lives and applied textbook concepts as he told stories.

"Telling stories is the best way to teach," Fuji declared from his carefully balanced seat on the fountain side. "Look at the central figures of religion today. The concept of education wasn't in existence then, but people still learned. There wasn't a University of Jesus Christ, or Mohammed Islamic Colleges or Siddharta Gautama's Center for Enlightenment. Those three started out talking and telling stories to crowds, and now, millions of people follow their lead."

Ryoma was sorely tempted to retort something along the lines of "Are you applying to be the next Jesus Christ then?" but he had thankfully grown out of that reflex and held his tongue. Whether he liked it or not, Fuji had the upper hand as his professor, and provoking him would be all sorts of bad.

He picked on a blade of grass instead, one ear listening to Fuji, the other one listening to the voices at war inside his head.

The very reality that he was under the former tennis tensai's tutelage was undeniable proof that fate had a sick sense of humor. Ryoma had practically remade his life, making it as Fuji-free as possible, and on his third year of college, the toughest of all years (if the tenfold increase of Momoshiro's vocabulary of expletives was any indication) Fuji totally blindsided him by posing as his professor.

In any other case, Ryoma would have sooner dropped the course than spend an entire semester being subjected to Fuji's control. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to be delayed three units if he wanted to graduate on time.

It was always the same. Fuji always watched him, unnerved him with that cryptic gaze, but always from a safe distance. Apart from watching, he did nothing else. Fuji _never_ made any forward advances. And to add even more oddity to the situation, Fuji only reminded Ryoma of his 'romantic' intentions every time he left for the next phase of life.

He didn't hate Fuji, oh no, far from it really. Fuji just did too much watching and too little conveying. Ryoma, despite appearances, was big on visceral needs and Fuji had never given him that, save those three times.

Thrice in eight years wasn't something Ryoma would classify as 'relationship' potential. So he came to the conclusion that Fuji had never taken him seriously.

Which, understandably enough, hurt a great bloody deal, so Ryoma felt that his rejections of the older boy were justified.

He was, after all, simply returning the favor.

He tried to pull himself back to the present. For the past twenty minutes, Fuji was telling a tale about the instincts of animals and other psycho stuff Ryoma couldn't care less about. Ryoma, for the most part, was too absorbed in his thoughts to listen but he took note of specific concepts in case Fuji decided to pick on him later.

"What can we learn from predators, and lift from birds?" Fuji spoke with implicit passion, silken voice defied only by deaf ears. "In impulse there is truth. The truest things bypass all mental processes, stemming from pure instinct. The body is always honest, more honest than the mind. Stop sniggering Ken, this is a perfectly wholesome matter."

A wave of badly suppressed snickers immediately greeted his words, with 'Ken' laughing the hardest. Ryoma rolled his eyes at the immaturity of it all, and continued de-grassing the ground.

"Impulse. Undivided trust in your gut. Don't stop. Don't think. Just do it," Fuji reiterated, as he stepped away from the fountain and walked around. "It's not always the right course of action but impulse never lies. Isn't that right…" He paused before rounding on a specific student.

"….Echizen?"

Startled, Ryoma straightened his back, dropping the recently pulled blades of grass, and noticed Fuji's brown suede loafers, directly in front of the small pile of grass he'd created.

Ryoma lifted his head as inconspicuously as possible. "Yes, sensei," he muttered under his breath, hoping that Fuji wouldn't be sadistic enough to ask him to answer anything else.

"Ah." Fuji tilted his head inquisitively at him. "And how would _you_ understand it?"

Ryoma reminded himself never to hope for anything again. Resisting the urge to stab his newly sharpened pencil into Fuji's foot, he squared his shoulders and looked Fuji straight in the eye, grabbing bits and pieces of data from his selective memory banks. "Impulse never lies because the body doesn't think," he started slowly, drawing out his syllables to stall for time.

That was a good start wasn't it? Fuji was still looking at him expectantly, but there were the beginnings of a smile on his face. Feeling a bit more confident, Ryoma plowed on, this time not pausing to think anymore. "Rather, the body feels, and feelings don't lie," he continued. "The cliché of mind over heart, while a very noble concept, does not exist. The mind's will does not necessitate a change of heart. Even if we pour all our mental energies into believing something that is not what it is, in the end, we will ultimately need to come to terms with the reality that we can't change."

Fuji was sporting a full-blown, open-eyed smile now. That in itself was not unusual, but there was a strange quality to it that set Ryoma off-kilter. It wasn't cryptically disturbing, nor promising devious behavior in the near future as was the usual suspects in Fuji's rich list of ambiguous body language. Rather, it was oddly calm and laced with the mildest trace of what seemed to be… satisfaction. Whatever it was, Ryoma definitely didn't like it.

"Those are very good insights, Echizen," Fuji commended, nodding approvingly, blue eyes piercing Ryoma's amber ones. "So in essence, you are claiming that the heart is stronger than the mind?"

Ryoma answered cautiously, wary of the way Fuji rephrased his answer. "In terms of truth and honesty, yes."

Fuji's smile grew the tiniest bit wider, and his voice became very soft. "Thank you Echizen. That's just the answer I was looking for."

By the time Ryoma realized what Fuji meant, Fuji had already looked away.

* * *

tbc 


	3. Chapter 3: The Burger Connection

**Chapter 3: The Burger Connection **

The fourth week.

Ryoma was annoyed to find himself actually being interested in the class, despite his best efforts to dislike it for his own biased reasons. He was even more surprised to see that he hadn't used any of the six cuts he was allowed.

Since it was raining outside, they were forced to stay inside the classroom. Today's lesson was on sexual attraction. Oh joy. Fuji had a _lot_ of ammunition for _that._

Surprisingly though, Fuji didn't use any of his own experiences, and let the students provide examples for him. Ryoma's classmates were certainly well-vested in the subject. Ryoma of course, had nothing to share, except perhaps if he deigned to volunteer something from Momoshiro's escapades with the Monkey King. _That_ would make an interesting lesson. But since his classmates had more than enough information, Ryoma decided to withhold his supposed contributions for future blackmailing purposes.

After several minutes of sharing, Fuji launched into an exposition of some of his classmates experiences, much to the excitement of those concerned.

Twenty minutes before the end of the lesson, one of Ryoma's female classmates raised a question.

"Sensei, what's _your_ personal quirk in determining attractiveness?"

Fuji didn't seem surprised with the question. He smoothed back his hair and tilted his head to the side. "Me? Oh… there are many things," he answered, smiling. "One is challenge. Nothing thrills me more than pursuing that which I cannot easily have."

Ryoma looked down at his desk. He knew that Fuji's lack of riffs on his own personal life was too good to be true.

"The second is intensity. I deeply appreciate raw energy, no matter how it's projected. Intensity is something I easily identify with, for despite appearances, I myself, am an intense person."

Ryoma bit his lip, not really wanting to hear this, but liking what he heard anyway. He had always been curious about what Fuji saw in him, apart from being a tennis prodigy.

"Third," Fuji continued, winking as he held up three fingers. "The way one eats a burger."

This last statement sent a lot of eyebrows into orbit. "Haaaah?" Even Ryoma couldn't help showing his surprise.

Fuji chuckled. "Let me show you." He pulled out a large McDonald's paper bag from under the teacher's desk. "Everyone get a burger. There are three different kinds to cater to your specific tastes-- a McChicken burger, a Quarter Pounder and a Filet-O-Fish."

Still not used to Fuji's oddball teaching techniques, the students shot each other quizzical looks and hesitantly lined up to get their food.

"Now here are my instructions," Fuji spoke as soon as everyone had gone back to their seats, a McChicken in hand. "Take a big bite. Eat the burger with gusto, as if you've never had one in your life. Then observe your classmates. If they still look cute, even with their mouth full of meat and bread, then that's an attractive person."

For a few minutes, the sound of burgers being unwrapped and eaten filled the room. Then…

"Sensei, you're right! People do look different when they eat!" A lot of verbal assent followed this statement.

Fuji adopted a pleasantly surprised expression. "Ah. So it's not only me then." He then took a bite out of his own sandwich.

"Oh but sensei, you're still very attractive even with bread crumbs on your mouth."

Fuji finished chewing his food before smiling politely at his student. "Why thank you Satsuki," he answered graciously. "I'll make sure that you receive proper marks for that."

The girl beamed. Ryoma scowled and focused his gaze on his Quarter Pounder, lying on his desk unwrapped, but uneaten.

Of course, Fuji just had to point this out. "Echizen, you're not eating your burger."

Ryoma shrugged, not looking at Fuji. "I'm not hungry."

Fuji strolled over and waved Ryoma's burger in front of the younger boy's face. "Just a bite then," he urged gently. "It's part of the lesson."

Ryoma glared at him but eventually obliged when Fuji pressed the sandwich even closer to Ryoma's mouth. He snatched the burger from Fuji's hand and took a tiny bite.

Fuji clucked his tongue in disapproval. "C'mon now, that's not the way you eat it."

"Fine." Ryoma opened wide and crammed his mouth with food. He suddenly realized he hadn't eaten breakfast yet and devoured the burger with relish. Fuji's eyes twinkled with satisfaction and he took another bite from his own sandwich, blue eyes trained on Ryoma the entire time.

Without conscious reason, Ryoma found himself staring at his professor, at the way Fuji bit into his McChicken, teeth scraping the bun, and tearing away a medium chunk of bread, chicken and lettuce. He chewed and Ryoma noticed that Fuji's upper lip was scattered with crumbs and sesame seeds, and just a touch of mayonnaise.

He then realized that there was a truth to what his bubblehead classmates said. Fuji's delicate features weren't marred by the presence of food stuff on his face. In fact, he even looked kind of cute. And coming from Ryoma, _that_ was saying something, because he never used the words 'cute' and 'Fuji' in the same sentence.

He suppressed a wry smile. Well how about that? Fuji's crackpot theory actually worked.

Fuji noticed Ryoma staring at him. "What is it?"

Ryoma touched a finger to his own lip. "Mayonnaise."

"Oh." Fuji looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. "Can you hand me a table napkin please?"

Ryoma raised one eyebrow. "Why don't you just wipe it off with your hand?"

"Mayonnaise is sticky."

Jeez, talk about hygiene quirks. Ryoma grudgingly looked around for the paper bag and found it on the opposite side of the classroom. Sighing, he turned back to Fuji. "Never mind. I'll do it." Before Fuji could reply, he reached up and wiped the substance off Fuji's mouth with his thumb. "You're a messy eater Fuji-sensei," he said, as he sat back down.

Fuji smiled and returned the gesture, surprising Ryoma. He delicately rubbed his thumb on the side of Ryoma's mouth, and Ryoma spotted a speck of mustard when Fuji pulled his hand back. "And you're a very attractive eater, Echizen." He sucked the mustard from his finger and smiled brightly at Ryoma.

Ryoma narrowed his eyes at Fuji to cover his shock at his immodest gesture. "I thought you didn't want your hands to be sticky."

"Aa." Fuji studied him thoughtfully for a few moments. Then, taking Ryoma by surprise, he suddenly leaned forward until he was mere inches from Ryoma's face. "That was mustard. Not mayonnaise," he whispered. His amused eyes lingered on Ryoma's wide-eyed ones before closing.

"Besides…" Fuji slowly leaned back and smiled cheerfully at Ryoma. "I just remembered I purchased a bottle of hand sanitizer yesterday."

That said, he turned and sauntered back to the teacher's desk, Ryoma's incredulous stare following him all the way.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: Hook Line and Sinker

**Impulse**

**Chapter 4: Hook Line and Sinker**

The sixth week.

Ryoma was currently nursing a thoroughly nuked brain in Fuji's class, having just emerged from a monstrously difficult three-hour chemistry exam twenty minutes prior. He had considered cutting, but unfortunately, Fuji encountered him in the hallway five minutes before class and Ryoma, even with both cerebral hemispheres sloshing in his head, knew better than to fight off a very enthusiastic Fuji subtly pushing him in the general direction of the classroom (apparently, it was raining again). He all but glued his head to the desk when he went inside and dropped down on his chair.

His head felt like someone was playing ping pong inside it. For a while, it seemed to him that he was floating in and between differing states of consciousness before one classmate brought up a topic that proved to be a thoroughly effectual wake-up bugle to the mentally exhausted Ryoma.

"Would you tell us something about your life, sensei?"

That was the question that kicked Ryoma's senses to gear.

"My life is a charming fairy tale of sorts. What aspect do you want to hear?"

And that was the response that completely hooked Ryoma's attention and actually made him sit up straight, all traces of exhaustion gone from his face. A mantra of denials echoed in his head. _Not love not love not love… _

"Love!"

_Shit._ Only sheer willpower kept Ryoma from head butting the desk again. Instead, he threw Fuji a warning look. Fuji wouldn't _dare._

If Fuji noticed Ryoma, he didn't show it. "Ah. I expected as much," he said, nodding. "Well, alright, if that's what you want."

_He would._ Ryoma's glare escalated to killer eyes that promised vast amounts of bloodshed, which, he later realized, wasn't much use since Fuji wasn't looking at him.

"However," Fuji added cautiously, folding his arms. "I am duty bound to warn you that if you're looking for happy, you won't hear it from me."

Several female classmates, who were apparently picking up from Fuji's sadistic vibes, leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table as they grinned excitedly at the prospect of hearing their professor's tragic story. "Ooh! Tell us!"

Tension gripped Ryoma's insides. _No. Don't._

"Alright," Fuji acceded, omnipresent closed-eyed smile back in place. He pushed himself up to sit on his desk and scoured the mob of eager faces. He paused for a bit before speaking. "To begin with, I think you should know that the love of my life is male, like me."

The coil of tension in Ryoma's gut tightened.

Disappointment made a few girls' features droop. "A man?"

"Yes." Fuji turned towards them. "Does that bother you?"

They immediately shook their heads. "No. Go ahead with the story sensei."

"Saa… alright then, I'll begin my story." Another pause ensued, as Fuji appeared to think on something. After a few seconds, he smiled decisively and spoke again. "For the sake of discretion, I shall call him… my little prince." His smile took on a note of fondness as he said this.

"Awww…" Several female classmates cooed. It was all Ryoma could do not to hurl his psychology textbook at Fuji.

"Once upon a time," Fuji began. "In my junior high school years, I met my little prince on the tennis courts. He had both a height and attitude problem, but he was bright and talented, and I was smitten with him."

"Was he cute, sensei?"

Fuji smiled brightly. "He was adorable."

Another chorus of "Awws." Ryoma cringed.

"Now, not to sound conceited, but I was the second best player in our team," Fuji continued. "But when my little prince came, my position was threatened."

"We played it out on the tennis courts one time, in a practice match. We were neck to neck in scoring. It was one of the rare occasions I actually played seriously against anybody. I'd never felt so alive, so thrilled with anything in my life as the time I played him." Fuji's voice was even and steady, but there was an implicit note of vibrance to it that did not escape Ryoma's ears. "Even when it began to rain and the rest of the team sought shelter, we kept playing."

More squealing. "Who won?"

Fuji shrugged. "We never found out. Our coach told us to stop and we couldn't do anything about it."

"Oh." Their faces drooped again, then lifted into semi-hopeful expressions. "Did you ever get to finish it?"

Fuji shook his head. The class fell into collective mutterings of "Damn."

Ryoma buried a hand in his hair. His head was hurting too much to deal with Fuji divulging their tragic love story to a roomful of nosy students who would probably guess who the little prince was in the end anyway. Ryoma had never second-guessed Fuji's sadistic tendencies, but this really took the cake.

"Anyway," Fuji continued, his expression turning wistful. "I tried to be a good senpai to him. At that time, I wasn't sure if what I felt for my little prince was admiration or infatuation so I stayed neutral, showing my affection sparsely but sincerely. Eventually though, I realized that I wanted more than camaraderie. So on my graduation day, I asked him to date me. He refused."

Gasps. "WHAT? But _why?_"

Fuji shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask. But I accepted it and went on my way, telling myself that maybe he wasn't ready for that kind of relationship yet."

Ryoma's classmates seemed to want to say something more but they wisely shut their mouths, which was good, because Ryoma was ready to kill some of them. Fuji began speaking again.

"We went to the same high school. Since I was two years his senior, I only got to see him regularly in my third year. Again, I didn't put any pressure on him and contented myself by watching him on a regular basis. I knew he knew I was watching him, but that was intentional. Occasionally, when I was sure he didn't know I was watching him, I'd take pictures of him. I was no longer a part of the tennis team at that time, having shifted my focus to photography. And yes, I must admit, I was obsessed enough to make him the main subject of my camera."

Ryoma looked down at his desk, his heart suddenly choosing this time to do a tapdance beneath his ribs. Fuji had him on _film_ and he didn't know it?

"And so, on my graduation day in high school, I asked him the same question. He refused again."

More whining. "Whaaaaat?"

Ryoma sank lower in his seat.

"Saa…" Fuji pacified the outraged females with a serene smile. "We also attended the same college. However, I hardly got to see him, even if I tried, because of our different schedules, the time I put into my clubs, and his… other affairs abroad. Finally, on my graduation here, I gathered up my courage and told him I loved him.

"Oh my god! And…?"

Fuji sighed. "He still said no."

The reactions were instantaneous.

"What! Sensei, he's so stupid!"

"How could he not love you back!"

"After you waited for him for such a long time!"

"Sensei, he's an insensitive jerk. He doesn't deserve that kind of devotion!"

Ryoma turned his attention away from the newly hatched we-hate-the-little-prince club and focused instead on devising some painful method of retribution for this outright baiting. He wondered if he could pull off sterilizing Fuji's balls by taping them to a running Xxerox machine.

"Saa… but that's the way the story goes," Fuji said, shrugging. "Real life is hardly a happy ending."

The almost non-existent drop in Fuji's tone made Ryoma look up. It was only then that Ryoma realized that Fuji's expression was no longer as composed as it originally was. It was still calm, by all means, but the blue eyes looked deadened with a sense of loss and the smile was strained. Only those who knew Fuji well enough could detect it, and if Ryoma didn't notice it, no one else had a chance to.

Then, all of a sudden, the irritation Ryoma was feeling subsided and transformed into a less desirable emotion: guilt.

Which was totally uncalled for because Fuji was the one violating his privacy here. But still, there was no mistaking the tide of raw emotion that tugged at Ryoma's heart.

Fuji spoke again. "I wasn't discouraged. I wasn't happy but I was content… just watching him." His voice softened, and he seemed to be talking more to himself than to the class. "And I continue watching him, even now."

The class, sans Ryoma, leaned forward to hear Fuji better. "How long do you plan to keep on waiting?"

"As long as long extends."

The guilt in Ryoma's heart tripled.

"Doesn't it hurt, sensei?"

Fuji's eyes veered down. "Of course it does."

"But you're always smiling."

Fuji was silent for a while. Then he lifted his eyes and in an instant, his face resumed its polite formality. "Perhaps after eight years of enduring everything, I've reached the level of hurting where I can hardly feel it anymore. It's just a matter of getting used to it. So I can keep smiling."

Ryoma's heart scraped painfully against his ribs.

"Oh." Ryoma's classmates didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Will you ask him again, sensei?" they asked instead.

Fuji's nodded resolutely. "Of course."

"But what if he refuses again?"

"Then I'll try again until he says yes."

"You're hurting yourself sensei," a female classmate argued, apparently devastated by his professor's loss. "Why don't you look for someone else?"

"Looking for someone else wouldn't erase the hurt," Fuji replied gently. "It will just... hurt differently."

_Fuji..._ Ryoma felt like he was going to be sick. His chest hurt a lot, at any rate.

"Either way… it's still your loss, isn't it, sensei?"

Fuji smiled painfully. "Yes."

"What do you think is the reason he continually refused?"

Fuji glanced at the ceiling thoughtfully before answering. "Maybe… I kept doing something that he didn't like."

_More like you didn't do something,_ Ryoma corrected internally. He looked down at the table again, feeling his ears burning. His headache was gone, replaced by the heavy weight in his chest.

For a few minutes, silence reigned over the room. Then…

"Echizen." Ryoma looked up. For the first time in the entire class period, Fuji looked at him. "You seem deep in thought. Would you mind sharing it with us?"

Ryoma stared back at those unblinking eyes, taking in the challenge and fresh hurt well-concealed beneath the blue depths. For a moment, he was at a loss of what to do. He hated himself for the self-traitorous thoughts he was harboring. But then, a familiar, firm voice inside him insisted that he should hate Fuji more for bringing everything back to the surface in the first place.

He listened to the latter. Before his courage could flee, he spoke, making sure his voice was appropriately cold. "I think he's just being smart."

Not a few female classmates gasped at this. "Echizen! That's a horrible thing to say!"

"Ah." Fuji was unfazed. "And why do you say that?"

"Maybe you don't take him seriously. You tell him you love him but you don't show it." Ryoma was surprising himself with his own boldness. "You said it yourself, you just keep watching him." 

"Maybe that's my way of saying I'm always there for him."

"Maybe that's not the right way."

Fuji's eyes widened for a split second before reverting back to its composed front. "Maybe I thought I would be pushing him away if I came too close."

"Maybe you thought wrong," Ryoma shot back, his words coming straight from his gut now. "And what he really needed was someone to be physically there with him and not a pair of steely eyes watching every move he makes."

Fuji got off his desk, eyes narrowed dangerously at Ryoma. "Are you saying I approached him the wrong way?"

Ryoma gripped the edge of his desk to keep himself from standing up. "You didn't approach him enough!" It was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking.

Fuji's expression didn't change. For a moment, Ryoma feared that Fuji was going to do something really terrible to him, something along the lines of revealing the identity of the villainous little prince to the class, which was quite possibly the most painful thing that could happen to him at this point in time.

Then, much to Ryoma's surprise, Fuji took on a resigned expression, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Do you think I'm too late then?"

Ryoma wanted to make a scathing "Yes" but what actually spilled out of his lips was soft "Maybe."

"_Maybe,_" Fuji echoed. "So there's a possibility." 

Despite the strings of guilt still tugging at Ryoma's heart, the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Don't bet on it."

This time, the hurt in Fuji's eyes was impossible to miss.

Ryoma's pulse was roaring so loudly in his ears, it was a miracle it didn't echo inside the room. For a moment, he was paralyzed in his seat, shocked with himself and what he had just revealed. Shocked that he had dared to speak to Fuji in that way. Even without turning around, he knew that his classmates' eyes were darting between the two of them as if one of them would explode at any minute, stunned.

Fuji opened his mouth to speak but the bell rang.

Without waiting for Fuji's reply, Ryoma grabbed his bag and nearly tripped over himself as he ran out of the classroom.

TBC

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You guys rock. 


	5. Chapter 5: Heads Up

**Chapter 5: Heads Up**

THWACK!

Ryoma returned Momoshiro's serve with a vicious twist shot.

Momo yelped, only just getting his racket up in time to shield his face, not even thinking about returning the shot. "Oi, what's eating you?" he yelled, his nerves still recuperating from the near facial disfigurement that seemed to be the aim of half of Ryoma's shots lately. "That's the fifth time you've almost knocked my head off!"

Ryoma hit a high volley. "Sorry. Just a little pent-up with… academics."

Momo jumped and returned the ball with a dunk smash. "That's why you should get yourself a boyfriend already," he advised. "To help you ease all that stress. Tennis could only do so much."

Ryoma smirked and effortlessly returned Momo's signature move. "You and Monkey King are keeping really busy nights huh?"

Momo blushed, and missed Echizen's relatively easy return. He stared as the yellow ball rolled on the ground and came to a stop near his feet. With a low growl, he snatched it from the ground and glared at a smug Ryoma. "You know Echizen, for someone who has stayed single AND virginal all your life, you have an incredibly filthy mind," he shot back, as he strolled over to the service area. "That's not what I meant. And stop calling Keigo Monkey King."

"What did you mean then?" Ryoma asked, ignoring Momo's blatant dig at his non-existent sex life.

Momoshiro made a powerful serve and Ryoma ran to catch up to it. "You know warmth, security, someone to wave a forkful of blueberry cheesecake in front of your face after a long day's work," he answered, taking some quick steps backward and hitting a low cross-court drive. "And a good backrub would be a perk too."

"Monkey King does all that?" Ryoma asked as he hit a drive B. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"Haha. Just keep that attitude Echizen. Someday, you'll understand what I mean when you and Fuji-senpai are finally together."

This time, it was Ryoma's turn to miss an easy shot. He swiftly turned and glared at a grinning Momo, a heavily sardonic remark forming at the tip of his tongue. But before he could deal it out, a new, drawling voice interjected.

"Your skills are getting rusty, Echizen."

Ryoma glanced behind him and saw the one and only Atobe Keigo sauntering towards them in his the-world-turns-at-my-command gait, smirking.

So that's why Momo was grinning.

Ryoma nodded stiffly. "Monkey King."

Atobe bristled ever so slightly at the unflattering nickname Ryoma had christened him with but he kept walking until he reached Momo's side.

Momo held up his hands before Atobe could sling an arm around him. "Heh… Before you do that, I think I should warn you that playing with the brat is no picnic and I'm sweating waterfalls."

Atobe merely tossed his elegant locks and proceeded to draw the younger boy to his chest. "All the more reason to kidnap you so you and Ore-sama can shower together."

A splotch of red streaked across Momo's cheeks. "But you just took one."

"Ore-sama can never be too clean. And you can never have too many chances to experience Ore-sama in all his finery."

_Pardon me while I gag, _was Ryoma's reflexive mental remark but Momo just beamed and wrapped a sweaty arm around his boyfriend's waist.

Ryoma tapped his racket on his shoulder, wondering if he should just pack up and leave the two love doves alone. Dealing with couples wasn't high on the list of things he could tolerate and now that the Monkey King and his best friend had created that cozy airspace around themselves, he had a feeling that the match would have to be continued at some other time.

Just as he was about to slink out undetected, Atobe spoke.

"So, Echizen," he said, the arrogant smirk gracing his fine features, "I heard from Takeshi that Fuji is your professor now."

Ryoma shot Momo an accusatory look which Momo promptly ignored, before turning to the former Hyotei captain. Yes," he answered begrudgingly. He paused before adding, "Unfortunately."

"Ah." Atobe nodded imperceptibly. "Fuji's fiercely dedicated, I could give him that much."

"Yes." Ryoma eyed Atobe strangely, wondering how much the older boy knew. Echizen didn't share all of his dramatic hooplas with Momo, but he did share a fair deal of them. And Momo, being one of Seigaku's former resident motor mouths couldn't keep such information to himself, and as a general rule, shared everything with either Echizen or Atobe.

Ryoma shrugged. Well, if this day was meant to suck, he might as well let it blow all the way. "If you count taking pleasure in bringing out our ugly history and sharing it with the rest of the class as dedication," he added, knowing fully well that Atobe was willing to waste his precious breath on the matter.

As expected, Atobe raised one oh-so-elegant eyebrow at this. "Bitter much, Echizen?"

"No. Disappointed is more like it."

"Disappointed?

Ryoma didn't bother to hide the ire in his tone. "Disappointed that Fuji-senpai could sink that low."

"You can't blame him for that."

"Yeah?" Ryoma lifted his eyes and met Atobe's gaze in silent challenge. "Enlighten me."

Atobe shrugged. "I think mooning over a cold-hearted bastard such as yourself for so many years deserves some form of release, one way or another."

"Mooning?" Ryoma echoed. "Fuji-senpai has never taken me seriously."

"Has not taken you seriously?" The mild incredulity on Atobe's face spoke louder than his words. "Echizen, does eight bloody years mean anything to you?"

"Time doesn't necessitate sincerity."

"You can't judge him just like that Echizen."

"And I suppose you can?"

"Guys," Momo interrupted loudly, shooting a nervous glance between the two. "Can we not get hostile please?"

Ryoma ignored him and stepped forward, meeting Atobe's condescending gaze with his own cool one. "I'm staying away from what could hurt me."

"And in doing so, you're also staying away from what could help you," Atobe countered. When Ryoma's stubborn expression didn't change, he sighed impatiently. "Why can't you be happy, Echizen?"

Ryoma's eyebrows oscillated to orbit at these words, more surprised with the fact that it was Atobe who'd asked the question than the question itself. "What are you talking about? I'm happy without him." It was a bald-faced lie, but at least it was better than the truth, which was that Ryoma was passionately regretting spilling the beans on his complicated love life (or lack thereof). He settled on giving the Monkey King his most withering glare instead…

…which, all told, wasn't very convincing, because Atobe merely folded his arms and fixed Ryoma with a patronizing look that clearly said he thought Ryoma was a moron. "I see that you are in dire need of Ore-sama's wisdom," he said regally, one side of his mouth lifting into a sardonic half-smile. "Listen to me."

"You are _not_ happy. And you could be happy if you'd just give Fuji what you _have_…" Atobe put an emphasis on the word 'have' and looked at Ryoma pointedly before continuing. " …in exchange for what you _lack." _

Ryoma just blinked at him.

Momo hurriedly interjected. "In simple language, pull your head out of your ass and screw it on straight," he supplied helpfully, in an attempt to ease the crackling tension. "Fuji-senpai deserves to at least hear from you."

_Oh, he already did_, Ryoma mentally answered. But he decided not to say that out loud anymore, seeing as how heated things got the first time around. Dealing with Fuji had deeply destabilized his psyche and having Atobe rub in that fact was just pouring salt on festering wounds.

So he simply shrugged and feigned resignation. "Why are you so keen on getting us together anyway?"

Atobe haughtily glared at him. "Is the concept of pure human goodness too complicated for you to comprehend?"

"… I wasn't aware you even knew about such a concept, Monkey King."

"Hmp. I shall pardon your slur on my generous nature for now. Anyway, you'd better make amends with Fuji. That or find-"

"- someone else other than Momo-senpai to vent my spleen on," Ryoma finished in his trademark bored drawl. "You know Monkey King, if you wanted more quality time with Momo-senpai, all you have to do is ask nicely and I'd gladly give you my blessings."

"Excuse me, but I don't recall needing your ble—"

"—Oh, wow, look at the time!" Momo piped up, checking his watch and simultaneously tugging on Atobe's arm. "The concert's at seven thirty." He shot Echizen a sheepish look as he added: "And we still need to shower."

Judging by the look on Atobe's face, he had forgotten about his unfinished response to Ryoma. "Of course." Momo lifted his hand in goodbye and he and Atobe began walking out of the courts.

Before they stepped out the gate however, Atobe turned around. "Echizen." He waited until Ryoma met his eyes before speaking again.

"You can be afraid and _try_. Or you can just be afraid." That said, he and Momo exited the courts.

Ryoma watched them go, gripping his racket tightly. A light breeze passed by, ruffling his longish bangs.

He thought of Fuji and what Atobe had said.

And for the first time in so long, Ryoma felt lonely.

-TBC-


	6. Chapter 6: Into the Lion's Den

A/N: Sorry for the delay. School is rearing its ugly arse again. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys make my day.

**Chapter 6: Into the Lion's Den**

Ryoma cut class the next day. He went to school but stayed inside the library, hoping to distract himself from Fuji-related thoughts with some of his more demanding schoolwork. His course had enough math and other number-heavy subjects in his curriculum to make any normal college student weep for him. Ryoma wasn't particularly inclined to math, but he excelled in it. Math was a logical subject. It required great concentration and many convoluted processes but at least no matter how complicated the problems were, he'd always be able to understand it in the end.

Unlike people. Complicated, twisted, irrational people. Yes, people were most definitely overrated.

He suddenly remembered an incredibly insipid pun Momoshiro had come up with in one of their sparsely distributed vodka sessions some time before Ryoma entered second year college.

flashback  
_  
"Why can't people talk like books?" he asked, after recovering from the burning sensation of Absolut Vanilia sliding down his throat._

"That's a stupid question, Echizen," Momoshiro answered, as he poured another shot glass of the strong, tasty alcohol. "Books don't talk, they speak volumes to you." He drank the vodka straight, put down the glass, and blinked a few times before realizing what he just said. Then he burst into hysterical laughter.

"Ahahaha.. Speak volumes – book, get it? Ahahahaha…"

Ryoma sent an imploring look at the ceiling, suddenly questioning his taste in drinking companions. Momoshiro was mind-nuked as far as people who'd imbibed seven shots of vodka and three bottles of beer go, but it was too early for Ryoma to deal with such banalities without being raving drunk himself.

He did wonder though, if the hypothetical concept of book talk applied to people. Talking was a lot like running on a treadmill, plenty of movement and effort, but going absolutely nowhere.

He didn't realize he had said the words out loud until Momoshiro stopped laughing long enough to wheeze out a reply. "Yeah. Imagine a world where all we have to do is read people's minds to communicate."

For some perverted reason, the first thing that popped up in Ryoma's mind at those words was a certain kitsune-like tensai he was very familiar with. A horrible image of a smiling Fuji reciting Ryoma's thoughts verbatim made the tiny hairs at the back of Ryoma's neck stand up on end.

"No thank you," he said after a delayed beat, nose crinkling in distaste. " I'd rather stick to talking."

"Coming from you, that's saying something."

Ryoma poured himself another shot. "I just don't want my mind to be read by certain people."

"In Echizen talk, "certain people" is synonymous to Fuji-senpai."

The shot glass in Ryoma's hand stopped midway to his mouth and he threw Momo a dirty look. "In Echizen talk, mentioning certain people's names is synonymous with a lot of pain."

Momoshiro smirked. "You're such a drama queen Echizen."

"And apparently you're not drunk enough yet."

"Heh." The dunk-smash specialist stuck his tongue out at him. "Wouldn't you love to know what goes on in Fuji-senpai's mind though?"

"Even if I could read Fuji-senpai's mind, I wouldn't understand it."

"Of course." Momo paused, eyeing Echizen knowingly for a brief period before speaking again. " YOU of all people can attest to that."

Ryoma responded by finishing off his vodka.

end flashback

Irked with the unwarranted trip down memory lane, Ryoma shook his head and quickly chose a spot beside the window overlooking the gardens. He sat down, wanting to drive all painful thoughts from his brain via continuous assault of numbers and formulas as soon as possible. He pulled out his discrete math textbook and began solving some problems on permutations.

An hour later, he had only finished three problems. He looked distastefully at the crumpled sheets of yellow paper in front of him. Every single one of them had doodles of smiley faces and jagged scrawls of the words burgers, little prince, and fox.

Frustrated, Ryoma leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He remembered Atobe's words.

"_Give him what you have in exchange for what you lack. You can be afraid and try or you can just be afraid." _

He looked outside the window and into the Social Sciences Building, which housed the Psychology department.

Then he stood up, gathered his things and walked out of the library.

* * *

This was stupid. Ryoma had been standing for a whole ten minutes in front of the Psychology department, his hand making a remarkable pattern of reaching for the knob, hesitating, pulling his hand back and repeating the whole cycle.

The door was made of ordinary oak, with the plaque of Psychology Department at the center. It was a simple, unremarkable door but Ryoma was intimidated by it. It might as well be made of molten rock with the words "Residence of Jack the Ripper" written in blood on the plaque.

And he would be walking into it.

For what?

For answers.

To what?

He didn't know, nor was he willing to find out. But he had to, didn't he? He needed to find out why Fuji had stayed on his trail for as long as he did. He needed to find out why he let Fuji plant himself in his mind, even as he pushed him away.

He needed closure. He needed to put this game to an end.

So pushing aside the last of his misgivings, he opened the door and stepped inside the room.

The first thing that Ryoma noticed was the depressing whiteness of the entire place. White walls, fluorescent lights, and even white couches. It looked disturbingly like the lobby of an asylum. But then again, this was the psychology department, and perhaps this was their idea of appropriate ambiance. 

The other thing he noticed was the absence of teachers. Only the secretary was there, typing away. She didn't even notice Ryoma.

He approached the secretary behind the desk. "Excuse me, is Fuji-sensei in?"

She glanced up irritably before pointing to a sign on the desk. "Can't you read?"

Ryoma eyes veered towards a makeshift sign haphazardly pasted on the bulletin board. _Academic Convocation today at the Iwasaki Theater, 1600 H to 2000 H. Attendance of all full-time professors is required._

Oh. He didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Mumbling a quick "sumimasen" to the irate secretary, he turned and walked back.

He opened the door and nearly did a double take when he saw Fuji standing there, a container of sushi in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. Fuji's surprised expression mirrored Ryoma's for a moment before resuming its characteristic polite smile.

"Echizen," he acknowledged warmly. "What a pleasant surprise. I missed you in class today."

Ryoma recovered from his surprise. "Fuji-sensei, what are you doing here? Isn't there an academic convocation going on?"

"I'm just a part-time teacher. I'm not required to go."

"I see."

For a few seconds, the sounds of the secretary's typing filled the silence. For some reason, Ryoma found himself staring at his shoes, the words he wanted to say deserting him.

Fuji broke the awkwardness. "I hate to be nosy Echizen, but why are you here?"

Good question. Why was he here? That's what he was about to find out right?

Right. Ryoma worked out a verbal response. "I want to clarify something with you."

"Oh?" Fuji raised one fine eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

Ryoma shifted his weight, still not meeting Fuji's eyes. "Sort of."

Fuji studied Ryoma curiously before smiling. "…Saa, let's head into the faculty lounge then."

TBC

* * *

Post A/N: The next chapter will be the last. It will also fall under an '**M**'rating (ooh, am I promising smut? Why, yes I am. XP) , which means it won't be showing up in the default page of FFN.

On another note: Thrill pair fans, there's a 'FujiRyo Buttfucking Revolution' going on in Livejournal, and it's just overflowing with FujiRyo material—fics, pics, doujinshi links, song links, porn and many more. You don't need an LJ to access it, because it's a public post. See my profile for the link.


	7. Chapter 7: Closure

**Warning: The following chapter contains M rated material. Read at your own discretion. **

**Chapter 7: Closure**

"Do you want anything?" Fuji offered, as he shut the door of the rather spacious faculty lounge and locked it. "We have coffee , tea and cookies. Or would you like some sushi?" He cheerfully held the plastic container towards Ryoma.

Ryoma eyed the sushi with much trepidation, noting the thick layer of wasabi on each piece. "No thank you."

"Alright." Fuji plopped down on a couch, and gestured towards an armchair. "Take a seat."

"I think I'll just stand."

Fuji shrugged. "Suit yourself." He fished a pair of chopsticks from his bag. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Ryoma watched Fuji pop a kani sushi in his mouth as he worked out a way to get his message across. Should he be diplomatic? Should he engage in small talk first? Should he wait until Fuji had finished eating before proceeding to tongue lash the living daylights out of him?

None of the options sounded appealing so he stuck to what he did best and got straight to the point. "Goddamit, Fuji-senpai, what the fuck were you thinking yesterday!"

That… went well.

Fuji was still chewing his food when he looked up at Ryoma, expression not the slightest bit surprised. If it were any other person, the image would've been incredibly hilarious but this was Fuji and Fuji didn't _do_ hilarious. He just looked irritatingly placid, even with his mouth full of sushi and with Ryoma seething in front of him.

Fuji finished chewing and swallowed. "I was humoring my students," he answered in a neutral tone.

"You were deliberately baiting me."

"It wasn't deliberate, it just cannot be avoided."

"Bullshit." The coldness in Ryoma's voice could freeze hot coals. "What do you want to happen?"

Fuji gazed up at him calmly. "I think I made that clear eight years ago."

"I said no."

"If I ask you again, will you still say no?"

"Yes. No. Crap-- I mean, my answer will still be no." Ryoma silently cursed his clumsy language.

There was the faintest hint of disappointment in Fuji's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "Then I won't ask it."

_What. The. Fuck?_ This was getting nowhere. Ryoma fixed Fuji a disbelieving look. "Are you a glutton for misery, Fuji-senpai?"

"Perhaps. But I'd like to call it patience, if you may."

"Just stop this already."

"I'm not doing anything now, Echizen," Fuji answered smoothly, as he looked Ryoma straight in the eye. "You're the one who came to me."

"Only because you brought it up yesterday."

There was a long pause. Ryoma glared back fiercely, never breaking the stand off.

Finally, Fuji looked away. "Do you really hate me that much, Echizen?" he asked quietly, and there was such sadness in his voice that Ryoma couldn't help the guilt that tugged at him, an emotion that had suddenly acquainted itself with him for the past few days and had impeccably horrible timing.

But he steeled himself, fighting back the grotesquely familiar emotion. He couldn't afford to wither now, no. He wouldn't let Fuji win. "I don't hate you," he answered slowly. "I'm just tired of playing your games."

Fuji's eyes widened questioningly. "Games?"

"Yes. Games." Fuji opened his mouth to speak again but Ryoma quickly interrupted. "I don't care if you don't call it that, but I'm sick of being toyed with."

Those words seemed to trigger something within Fuji, for he suddenly looked deathly solemn. The sushi forgotten, he threw aside his chopsticks, stood up from the couch, walked around the center table and stopped in front of Ryoma, one hand swiftly grabbing Ryoma's chin. "I was serious about you from the very start," he whispered, blue eyes knife-like and smoldering.

Ryoma stared back defiantly, although his insides quailed nervously at the silent force of Fuji's gaze. "Of course, you are, you express it just so frequently," he retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You tell me, three times is some kind of record for you isn't it?"

"I admit that it was a misjudgment on my part to have been so detached. But I meant every single word I said on those three times."

"You didn't act on them. I'd say that's a good reason to doubt your sincerity."

"You're the one who said no."

"Well whose fault is that?"

"…" Fuji said nothing, but his grip on Ryoma's chin tightened so much it hurt.

Ryoma could feel the fast beat of his pulse echoing in his ears. _Get out now Ryoma,_ a familiar voice inside him urged. _Before he pulls you in… Before YOU give in. Before… before--_

Ryoma gathered the last of his courage. "Che. I thought so." He glared at Fuji one last time, before knocking the older boy's hand off and turning. "I'm leaving." He walked swiftly towards the door, fighting the tenuous tears rising at the back of his eyelids.

"Wait."

Ryoma didn't stop walking, his eyes focused only at the door in front of him. It was starting to blur. He was just about to unlock it when Fuji grabbed on to his wrist.

"Ryo—Echizen." Fuji spoke very softly but his voice reverberated in Ryoma's ears as if Fuji had shouted. "If… if it's a game you insist on… then I shall grant it. If only as a means to an end."

_What?_ Ryoma's eyes widened. He lifted his hand from the knob and glanced at Fuji, blinking first to stave off the premature tears. "What do you mean?" he asked, certain that whatever it was the former tensai had in mind wasn't good at all… and yet wanting to listen to it all the same.

"One hour." Fuji's grip on his wrist tightened. "If I can't make you change your mind after that, then you win. I shall leave you alone. You will never hear from me again, except for academic reasons." Saying those words seemed to cost Fuji a lot, the gentle, silken voice breaking into something akin to desperation.

Fuji was _desperate._ Ryoma was hard-put not to gape at this surreal transformation, a facet of Fuji that Ryoma had never seen before. He didn't see this coming. He always thought that it would be _him_ to give the ultimatum and not the other way around. Slowly, he turned around. "And if I lose?"

"You'll find out."

Ryoma frowned. "That's not fair."

"I never said it would be." When Ryoma didn't reply for a long time, Fuji spoke again. "If it's the only thing you do for me, please accept. One hour is all I ask."

Ryoma bit his lip, willing himself to refuse but lacking the courage and desire to do so. "Are you going to seduce me?" he asked instead. Normally, he'd feel perturbed with his blasé choice of words but Ryoma was beyond caring at this point.

"Saa… that's not the way I would put it. But the sentiment stands."

Ryoma checked the clock. Four thirty-seven.

He turned towards Fuji and Fuji just looked back at him, waiting.

He should say no. He was sick of games, wasn't he? One hour was a long time. Enough time for Fuji to break through to him. Enough time to reel him back in so that he could never walk away again.

_Never walk away again._ The thought terrified him and at the same time filled him with a delicious thrill. It was an ambivalent mix of emotion that only Fuji had succeeded in stirring in him, and he was feeling it again, here, in the most inopportune of times.

But no. He needed to be strong. Strong enough to withstand the temptation that was Fuji who was looking at him now with that maddening desperation, the normally impassive face now vulnerable, the smiling mask gone.

Looking at him now in the way Ryoma had _always_ wanted Fuji to look at him.

But….

He couldn't. He needed to be strong.

He needed to walk away…

He needed… he needed…

Ryoma closed his eyes.

"Fine. I accept."

* * *

If the conditions prior to the agreement were already unfair to begin with, the actual game was indefinitely worse.

Worse in the sense that Ryoma was definitely headed for a humiliating loss— and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Long, elegant fingers sheathed muscles that flexed under Fuji's tantalizing caress, causing Ryoma to arch his back against the wall. Ryoma needed that wall, if he wanted to keep his balance. His knees were close to caving in, and he was pretty certain his brain would be doing the same soon after. Fuji did nothing more than touch him, but already, Ryoma was aching with need. It was as if Fuji's hands had radars for sensitive spots, triggering unholy jolts of pleasure from the most innocent of places.

One hand found its way to Ryoma's jaw, while the other hand worked itself up Ryoma's back, fingers tracing the contours of Ryoma's spine with such delicacy, Ryoma couldn't stop the purr that had been trying to escape his throat upon Fuji's first touch.

Then Fuji kissed him, and this time, the sensations were indescribable. A hot piece of wet velvet touched on his palate, and Ryoma tasted an odd mix of wasabi and lemon and a nameless flavor that was uniquely Fuji. Unable to resist, he kissed Fuji back.

Ryoma knew he was damned. Damned from the very moment he agreed to this game, a game he knew he couldn't win.

He wondered why that fact didn't bother him so much. Then he remembered something Fuji taught a while back.

_In impulse, there is truth._

And all impulses pointed towards Fuji.

The firm pressure on his mouth disappeared. "Echizen."

Ryoma's eyes fluttered open and his vision was instantly dominated by cobalt eyes emitting dark blue heat. "This is what you want, isn't it?" Fuji whispered, his hot breath tickling Ryoma's cheek.

"Nnh." Was Ryoma's coherent reply. And with it came the realization that it could only go downhill from there.

"Saa…" Ryoma could almost hear Fuji mentally chuckling in amusement, although that could just be because Fuji's forehead was leaning on his.

"Good answer."

Then Fuji kissed him again, and Ryoma felt the hand previously holding his chin in place slide down, down into more unchartered territory, and he heard the faint ripping sound of zippers being unzipped and buttons popping out of their holes. Ryoma was helpless to protest, and he could only moan against Fuji's mouth as a slender hand slipped beneath the elastic waistband of his boxers and wrapped around his arousal. He found himself scouring that unfairly skilled mouth with equal aggression, attempting to grasp at the fraying threads of self-control, control that Fuji had so easily snatched away.

As Fuji kissed him deeper, hand working miracles on his cock, his mind lost itself in the ripples of sensation, and sank into something deep-rooted within him, in a place locked up for so long, he forgot it even existed.

On the outside, his body melted under Fuji's touch like butter in the sun. On the outside, his hands clung tightly, desperately at the warm graceful body pressed against his. On the outside, Fuji's hungry lips nudged his apart and enticed his mouth to participate in a sinful play of tongues and lips.

On the inside, he watched himself from a distance and mentally confronted Fuji a thousand times.

_I need this._

No I don't.

Yes, I do.

I need it badly.

This is what I've been waiting for all my life.

No it's not.

No, you're not screwing my life again..

Don't blame me, it's all your fault.

Fuck, I blame you for everything!

Why couldn't you have given me this eight years ago?

I waited for you!

Waited for you to prove that love you claimed to have for me.

But you didn't.

I waited for you every day, yet in the space of eight years, you only came THRICE.

THRICE!

And you ask me why I can't be with you?

All I wanted was constant physical presence.

An assurance that you'll always be around.

You couldn't give it to me.

So you deserve to hurt. Just like I did.

So what if I need this?

So what if I need YOU!

It's too late now.

Is it?

Yes, it is.

We should've been together years ago.

WHY DID YOU THROW ALL THOSE YEARS AWAY! 

Ryoma's eyes flew open, and before he knew it, he had pushed Fuji off him and into the coffee table. There was the sound of something breaking and a plastic bottle clattering to the ground but it barely registered to Ryoma, who was breathing hard, the wavering currents of emotion caused by his inner voices still fresh in his psyche.

Fuji stared up at him, very much surprised, one hand clutching his shoulder.

The loss of stimuli had every nerve in Ryoma's body screaming in outrage, and it showed, his legs quivering like jelly, his arousal still throbbing painfully in his pants. His mind was suffused with denial and he looked down at Fuji, golden eyes wild and just a bit scared.

"No. You can't continue."

Fuji merely looked at him, impassiveness in check. "I want to."

"You can't!"

"Why not?"

In the hesitant stillness that followed, Ryoma's instinct kicked in.

"Because I'm going to fuck you."

* * *

_"Because I'm going to fuck you."_

The words jumped out of his mouth, completely bypassing mental consent. Few things shocked Echizen Ryoma, but it never occurred to him that one such thing would be himself.

_In impulse there is truth._

He couldn't pedal back now. To hell with everything else, Ryoma would figure things out later. He watched as Fuji settled himself steadily on his feet, his attention momentarily checking out his bruised shoulder. Then, after a few moments, his eyes lifted and looked directly at Ryoma.

Ryoma was pinned by the intensity of Fuji's gaze. Fuji would refuse, that was almost certain, but Ryoma wouldn't yield either and he looked back at Fuji with the same directness.

"Saa…" Fuji smiled and let his hands drop to his sides. "Then…" Still looking at Echizen, he took a few steps back towards the couch, and blindly grabbed his bag from behind him. He picked out an item and tossed it at Ryoma, who fumbled a bit before grabbing the item firmly in his hand.

Ryoma glanced briefly at it. Hand lotion. His eyes widened before veering to meet Fuji's again.

Fuji's smile took a challenging turn.

"Do it if you can, Echizen."

* * *

This wasn't the way he pictured it happening.

But it's just as well, wasn't it? Someone had to give. Fuji's acquiescence surprised Ryoma but he managed to keep his facial reactions at bay.

He purposefully made his way towards Fuji, clutching the bottle tightly in his hand. Almost mechanically, he stepped directly in front of Fuji, glaring at him all the while. Fuji's amusement with the matter grated at his already worn nerves. With a swift hand, he reached out and slowly unbuttoned Fuji's khaki trousers, noting the unashamed bulge inside it.

Then he made another split-second decision. Quickly pulling down the rest of Fuji's underwear, he grasped the stiff shaft hanging at full mast and knelt down.

Suffice to say, Fuji was surprised with this. "Echizen…"

Ryoma tentatively run his tongue along the flushed tip dotted with creamy drops of liquid, tasting an odd mixture of salt, musk and an underlying flavor that was Fuji's own. His tongue darted out again, this time navigating the length of Fuji's cock, his hands grasping Fuji's hips. He relished with a certain savageness the tortured gasp his action elicited from the older man. Then, pushing aside all reservations, he took the hot swollen length in his mouth, suppressing a short-lived gag reflex as he did so. He heard Fuji suck in a harsh breath, and that was all the push he needed to continue.

Ryoma had no idea how he was supposed to go about this but he let his instincts lead the way for him. As he continued sucking Fuji, one hand went on the move in coating Fuji's entrance, slick fingers sliding, scissoring and coaxing the tight muscles to relax.

He felt a sharp pain tug at his head and realized that Fuji's fingers were tangled in his hair. The taut muscles under his mouth's mercy trembled and Ryoma knew that it wasn't long before Fuji came.

But instead of allowing Fuji his release, he immediately freed the pulsating organ from his mouth and very slowly drew out his fingers. He smirked when Fuji made an involuntary sound of protest.

Without bothering to stand up, he pushed Fuji towards the couch. Fuji didn't even have any time to recover when Ryoma was already on him, slamming him down none-too-gently on his back. The soft couch bounced at the violent impact.

Ryoma pushed Fuji's knees apart and settled himself between them. Fuji watched Ryoma with unhidden fascination, as the latter wrapped a lotion-spattered hand around his shaft, preparing himself.

When he was done, he looked down at Fuji. Strange, Fuji's calmness didn't unnerve him this time. It still surprised him though, how Fuji could even afford to be calm in such a questionable situation.

Then Fuji smiled. And Ryoma, not wanting to prolong his own gratification, proceeded.

He wasn't gentle. He didn't make any cautious navigation and impaled Fuji completely in one fast thrust, making the older man gasp in pain. Fuji's hands gripped Ryoma shoulders and drew him closer with every buck of the younger man's pelvis until his chin was resting on Ryoma's shoulder, arms wrapping around Ryoma's neck.

Ryoma buried his face in the crook of Fuji's neck to stifle his own cries. He decreased the speed of his thrusts just fractionally but it was enough for Fuji to release a small sound of relief.

It wasn't long now. Soon, Fuji released a soft cry and came, and that was the match to the tinder as Ryoma, after burying himself as far as he could inside the tight, velvet heat, felt the world disappear into a siege of dead white.

* * *

It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but time was irrelevant for the meantime, as Ryoma slowly came to his senses, recovering from the powerful explosion of release that had shaken him out of his wits.

He realized that he was still draped on top of Fuji. Grunting, he shakily pulled out. He was about to get off, but the arms around his neck kept him in place.

"It isn't one hour yet."

Ryoma was too spent to argue and just dropped himself back on top of Fuji, still breathing heavily, brain still not in prime working condition.

A few seconds later, amidst his struggle for breath, Ryoma rasped out the first thing he could think of. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you let me do it?"

Fuji managed to shrug, despite Ryoma's weight. "It's what you wanted."

Ryoma closed his eyes. "But I thought…"

Fuji laughed bitterly. "Echizen, if all I wanted was to bed you, I wouldn't wait eight years to do it."

Ryoma's eyes cracked open. "But why this game?"

Fuji was silent for a long time. Then…

"If it will come to an unfavorable end," he finally spoke, "I could say that I had at least known what if felt like to experience you with all my senses. I could have had something to hold on to, to pretend a happy ending with."

_Oh._ Ryoma had no idea what to say to that. He wasn't prepared for this kind of revelation. He wasn't prepared for ANYTHING that happened for the past minutes, for that matter.

However, he did realize something though. Something he regretted not realizing sooner.

Fuji was sincere. Somehow, along the way of accepting his own desires, discovering Fuji's very mutual ones and acting on said desires, Ryoma had come to terms with the fact that despite lack of past evidences, Fuji truly _cared._ And perhaps Ryoma was too wrapped up with the idea of a _constant_ physical awareness, that he failed to see past the seemingly random nature of Fuji's affection.

His eyes fluttered open again and it suddenly occurred to him that he had been carrying on with the conversation while still on top of Fuji.

While he found the situation slightly embarrassing, Ryoma didn't mind at all and Fuji had no qualms about keeping Ryoma on him. Truth be told, Ryoma liked the feel of Fuji's body beneath his. He closed his eyes again, and nuzzled his nose against the crook of Fuji's neck, inhaling the other's scent, an intoxicating mix of peaches and clean male sweat.

For a moment, there was nothing but comfortable silence, as both men recovered from their activity, Fuji's fingers playing with Ryoma's hair and Ryoma breathing into Fuji's neck. Then, Fuji's voice cleaved through the stillness.

"Echizen." He took a deep breath before uttering the next words. "Are you happy with this?"

Ryoma lifted his head and met Fuji's eyes. "… I'm not unhappy."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What? I said—"

"Being not unhappy and being happy are two different matters. The negation of a negative emotion does not equate to its positive counterpart. Emotions do not possess mathematical properties, Echizen."

Ryoma scowled. It was such a Fuji thing to do, pulling the professor status in such a compromising situation. Somehow though, Ryoma didn't find it unfitting.

Reluctantly, but knowing the necessity, he forced Fuji's arms off him and swung his feet to the floor. He shakily stood up, and noted for the first time, the sticky wetness on his and Fuji's shirts. Frowning, he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and started cleaning up. "I don't know Fuji-senpai," he said bluntly in between swipes. "It depends."

Fuji slowly sat up as well, wincing as he did so. "It depends on what?" he questioned, starting to fix his own bearing.

"On what will become of this game."

Fuji paused and looked at him. "You resisted me. I didn't resist you."

"That doesn't answer anything."

"Saa…" Fuji smiled and tilted his head. "What do you think?"

Ryoma paused, mulling things over. He had certainly cleared some things up from this, but there were many things that still disconcerted him. "I think I could win this," he started slowly. "But…" He bit his lip, as the implications of what he was about to reveal hit him.

"But…" Fuji gently prodded.

Ryoma swallowed. And before he could chicken out, he spoke.

"But… I don't want to."

For a moment, it was as if all the different emotions waged war with each other on Fuji's face, before finally settling on a safe combination of relief and delight. "And what will you make of that?" he asked, the silken voice reflecting his expression.

"I don't know," Ryoma answered honestly, frowning. He threw his handkerchief into the trash bin and glanced sideways at Fuji. "Why don't you tell me?"

Fuji shook his head regretfully. "I couldn't tell you Echizen, for I cannot articulate them myself," he admitted. "However, I can show you." A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "If you'll let me."

"What, are you going to seduce me again?" Ryoma knew he was blushing, but that was the least of his worries. He didn't want Fuji to think he was giving in too easily.

Fuji laughed, but not unkindly. "If things were that easy we wouldn't be having this conversation," he remarked dryly. "Although I will admit, I had my share of frustrations. Maybe that's part of why I didn't come close." He paused, appearing to think of something.

Then, without warning, he was suddenly in Ryoma's face, leaving the smallest, calculable space where skin didn't touch skin betweeen them, making Ryoma blush even harder.

"Because I couldn't stand to be so near you without having the impulse to bite you," he whispered. "Somewhere." His smile took a devious turn. "_Anywhere._" 

_So why didn't you?_ was the first thought that popped up in Ryoma's head, but saying that would be completely self-cauterizing. There was only so much heat his face could take before steam blew out of his ears. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he decided to pull a reverse of Fuji's professor stunt. "Heh. Impulse never lies. Don't stop. Don't think. Just do it," he quoted smugly, noting with much satisfaction the surprise on Fuji's face as he recognized the words. "You're a bloody hypocrite Fuji-sensei."

Fuji chuckled again. "I know. I've learned my lesson. And I'm glad you've been studying yours well."

Ryoma smiled cockily. "No teacher has ever given me a grade lower than B before and you're not about to be the first."

Fuji only smiled in response. Ryoma looked down at his sneakers and again, there was a long pause.

And again, it was Fuji who spoke first.

"So, what now, Echizen? What happens from here?"

Ryoma bit his lip. The segue of events was so surreal, moving in a pace that was twice as fast as Ryoma was capable of going. He still couldn't understand how getting a little physical with Fuji could swing his opinions so effectively. Was he that shallow? Or was Fuji just that _good?_ He knew for certain now that he had been wrong in his judgment of Fuji's sincerity but while he felt glad that he was wrong, he was still confused as how to go about… everything that would or _should_ follow, whatever 'everything' was.

So he could only answer the only thing he considered as truth for the moment. "I really don't know."

Fuji wasn't discouraged. "It all boils down to what you want, Echizen," he responded in a mildly persuasive tone. "I told you, I'm willing to wait for as long as long extends. So I'm going to ask you: What do you want now?"

To that, Ryoma had an answer ready. God knows how many people had asked him that. "I want to be happy."

"Ah. That's a very tricky thing to want. Common, but tricky." Fuji smiled. "But be that as it may, I believe I can give you that."

Ryoma didn't reply and continued staring at his shoes. A few moments later, he heard Fuji sigh. Then, a familiar hand grasped his cheek, turning it slowly.

"Ryoma."

It was the first time Fuji called him by his first name. Ryoma hesitantly lifted his eyes and met Fuji's serious, earnest ones.

"Let me teach you."

Ryoma bit his lip again. And as he stood there, with Fuji waiting for his response, he thought of the things he didn't do, the things he had already done and the things he could still do.

With Fuji.

He thought about the past eight years, years spent running away, eight years of suppressed impulses.

He thought of Fuji's honey colored hair, dripping wet and thrown into sharp relief as he sliced a Higuma Otoshi in the rain. He thought of Fuji's voice, soft yet resonating, barely heard but producing endless echoes in his mind.

He thought of Fuji's azure eyes, eyes that had always watched him, eyes that could see through him, eyes that shattered his icy visage beyond repair.

He thought of Fuji, waving a burger in front of his face, Fuji, who was always there, hardly around him but always _with_ him, ever watching, silent, patient, waiting. And waiting still.

He thought of love and happiness and how things end.

He looked at the clock. It read 5: 17.

And then, almost without conscious volition, he was reaching up and enveloping Fuji's warm hand with his own. "Yes," he answered decisively, feeling the corners of his mouth lift into a genuine smile. "Teach me, please." He squeezed Fuji's hand.

"Sensei."

Fuji smiled back. It was the only thing he did but it was all he needed to do anyway. Ryoma was satisfied, and he readily responded when Fuji pressed his smile on Ryoma's own, into a kiss that was gentle and unassuming yet spoke a promise of much more to come.

Fuji had won, of that there could be no doubt.

But Ryoma did not lose either.

* * *

Graduation day in Tokyo University found Ryoma hugging Fuji to him, amidst the rain of togas and hats.

"Ryoma."

Ryoma pulled back and met Fuji's gaze. "What?"

Fuji touched Ryoma's chin and tilted it to look directly in his eyes. "Are you happy?"

Ryoma smiled and said nothing. He just pulled Fuji closer and kissed him.

And Fuji understood.

Owari

* * *

Post A/N: Would you guys call me evil if I tell you that this story was finished way way back last August 24—for Ryuuza/Meitachi's birthday? Yes? Hee. I thought so. Sorry guys, Lady A is a lazy arse and hates FFN for not allowing her aesthetically pleasing formatting, so the updates come in slow dosages.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You guys really make my day. If you guys have an LJ, drop me a line so I could get to know you better. I love making new friends. See the link at my profile page.


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